


The Sun Sets in the East

by Lizzie Acepry (fxkeauth0r)



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Will Herondale, Brother-Sister Relationships, Curses, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Family Drama, Family Issues, Fights, Gay, Gay Character, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Homosexuality, Male-Female Friendship, Revenge, Romance, Sad, Secrets, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fxkeauth0r/pseuds/Lizzie%20Acepry
Summary: Will Herondale and Gabriel Lightwood have rocky relations. After an argument between the two boys ended in a physical fight, the boys have harbored extreme hatred towards each other. Then, two years later, Gabriel Lightwood shows up at the London Institute seeking revenge for that night. The boys are at constant odds with each other, struggling with themselves, their family, and where they belong.
Relationships: Charlotte Branwell & Will Herondale, Jem Carstairs/Gabriel Lightwood, Jem Carstairs/Will Herondale, Will Herondale & Gabriel Lightwood, Will Herondale & Jessamine Lovelace, Will Herondale/Gabriel Lightwood, Will Herondale/Jessamine Lovelace
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry to anybody that reads this. I had this fever dream idea about Will and Gabriel and I just need to write it into existence. For myself, of course...This is very lightly edited, so please forgive any grammatical errors.

William Herondale dropped the diary of Tatiana Lightwood at Gabriel’s feet, ignoring the remarks of disapproval from the Enclave. “Sorry, Lightwood, I think I scuffed your shoe. Allow me to help you out--” he leaned down, spitting at his feet before turning and walking out into the hallway. Gabriel stood stoically, staring down at the saliva coating the black toe of his shoe. Gideon moved forward, the bottom of his pale grey frock lifting upwards as he came to face his brother, tilting his chin down to meet Gabriel’s unfocused gaze. 

“Gabriel, now let us not make fools of ourselves,” he whispered, attempting to keep the Enclave’s attention away from his brother by shuffling his tall body to hide his younger brother. He drew a handkerchief from the pocket of his dress pants, the threaded Lightwood emblem sticking out in its stark white coloring. “And do not go after William. I know Father will have words with Ms. Branwell.” Gideon pressed the handkerchief into Gabriel’s hand, fighting past his clenched knuckles. 

Gabriel cleared his throat, his cheeks alight with the fiery red of embarrassment. And from a damned Herondale. “Thank you, Gideon. I will see myself out. I am not to be here anyways,” he said, bowing at the waist. He would not be the man to lean down and wipe another man’s spit off of himself. Perhaps he would make William clean it up for him. He reached the door to exit, but turned around, taking note of the thin-lined faces of unimpressed Shadowhunters. Charlotte stood in the back, her hands clasped in front of her dress, attempting a neutral expression. Gabriel saw past it in the way that Charlotte’s mouth sat closed, her lips drawn into the smallest frown, but her eyes swam with sadness. “I apologize on behalf of William Herondale. He lives up to his family name,” he said mildly before leaving the room, leaving his sister’s diary unattended on the wooden floor. Gabriel shut the door behind him, his fingers itching with the desire to wrap themselves around a certain neck. 

“Did you stand in front of them? Muster up an apology about how Herondales are nothing but uncontrollable animals with not an ounce of respect? Indulge me, Lightwood. I’m desperate to know,” the voice heavily lilted with sarcasm drawled. William used one arm to swing himself around a pillar situated in the hallway, walking forwards to come face-to-face with Gabriel. 

“Wipe it up,” Gabriel said, his teeth gritted. William Herondale did not deserve his anger. To see him sweat would give him victory. Never lose to a Herondale. They will hold it over your head because they have disgraced themselves and prey on the reactions of others. Gabriel’s father told him this after a particularly nasty screaming match in a park in which William had thrown a rock at Gabriel’s back. He thrusted the handkerchief Gideon had given to him at William’s chest. 

“Pardon me?” William said, a laugh escaping his lips. “Gabriel, I would rather eat the foot of a Ravener before I knelt beneath you,” he said, using his pointer finger to push him away. “Thank you, though”. 

Gabriel pushed his tongue against his teeth, his jaw clenching with the action. “I said, Herondale, wipe your goddamned saliva off of my shoe before I break your nose,” he breathed, tempted to snap the finger that brushed his shoulder. 

William’s eyes grew alight with a sick sort of playful desire as he inched forwards. “My saliva is actually quite normal. It would have had to have been very special to be damned by God, do you not agree?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in mock intrigue. 

Gabriel dropped the handkerchief, not watching as it floated to the ground, and pulled his elbow back, slamming it into Will’s jaw bone. The faint crack he heard was not William’s jaw, but his own finger. Tendrils of pain drifted down his wrist to his finger, but he cocked back, aiming for the boy’s nose. William simply sidestepped him, his hands rested in the deep pockets of his pants. “Good God, Lightwood. Have you not learned to punch before? That is quite alright. I would be delighted to demonstrate. Some of us are visual learners, after all,” he said, his own fist connecting with the soft skin of Gabriel’s face. William took this moment to restrain Gabriel, pulling his arms behind his back, so far that Gabriel feared his shoulders would be dislocated. 

“Unhand me, Herondale, or I’ll--” he started, suddenly at a loss of words. How pathetic he was. Held by a Herondale like he was an aggressive sort of mutt. 

“You’ll what? Scream for your father like a child? Disgrace the Lightwood legacy by not being able to defend yourself against a Herondale?” William chided, clearly enjoying the position in which Gabriel was in. “This is quite entertaining, though I fear if James sees me I will get reprimanded,” he said finally, shoving Gabriel forwards. 

“James? James Carstairs? That sickly bastard you took on as parabatai? How shameful,” Gabriel said. It was a low dig, but he would not admit defeat to the blue-eyed devil two feet behind him. Even success achieved by lowly measures is success. The words of his father echoed through his mind. Whatever it takes to win. And it should not be so hard to shut up a Herondale. 

“Watch your mouth about Jem. You can spout off at me, but Jem has done nothing to you or your family. Do you hear me, Lightwood?” William grabbed Gabriel by the shoulder, his fingers digging into him and past the fabric of his shirt. Gabriel had struck a nerve in the raven-haired boy and he did not want to stop. He whipped around, staring Will in the eyes. He looked him over dismissively before brushing past him to go sit in the lobby. “It is not my fault you were drawn to a dying man. Nobody else seems to want you. Maybe it is your way with people, Herondale. You are quite charming,” Gabriel scoffed, enjoying himself. “And you know what they say: Like father, like son. You are destined to be a failure,” he hummed. 

“Do you have an obsession with me, Lightwood? Perhaps you are catching what your sister had. She has quite the infatuation,” William smiled, his head cocked to the side, as if he were reminiscing on younger days. “I would be willing to go back and fetch the diary. Her words were quite poetic. I do think I am in love,” he was laughing, walking around Gabriel. 

Will’s dig about Tatiana cut Gabriel’s joy prematurely short. “My sister is not your plaything. She is an impressionable child who you seem to have indoctrinated. I will not stand for your harassment. Once my father brings your behavior to Josiah Wayland, you will consider yourself estranged from the Institute,” he said finally. “Lightwoods have a lot of influence, but I doubt you would understand, being a Herondale and all.”

Will stopped walking, facing a painting of a garden rather than the chestnut-headed boy behind him. “You are quite right, Gabriel. I do not understand. I do not understand your infatuation with me. If I am so lowly, why dirty yourself picking fights with a Herondale? Is it to gain respect points with your father? Does he doubt you to have the instincts of a real Shadowhunter? For the record, Wayland could not possibly care less about a squabble between two boys,” he said, his voice level, but the undertones of anger were clearly evident with the sharp bite of each word. 

“No, I am simply eradicating an unworthy species from the Shadow World. It is cesspit enough without the existence of your kind,” Gabriel said. “First they allow you in after your father’s disgrace and then they allow your sickly friend to come train beside real Shadowhunters. This world is going to hell and you would benefit from leaving and taking him with you.”

Soft steps made their way around the corner, revealing a skinny, white-haired, Chinese boy. James. Gabriel scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “Must you call on your dying parabatai to resolve the situation? Good God he looks like he is going to die by just standing there and breathing.”

“I am dying. Nobody is denying that,” James spoke. His voice was soft, comparable to the mild breeze of autumn wind. “I am, however, quite tired of your bickering. Nothing will come of it, so please, resolve this conflict. It is hard to play the violin when all I can hear is your voices. Both of you,” he said. And with that, 14 year-old James turned on his heel, making his way back to his bedroom. 

“Gabriel, do me a favor and get the hell out of the Institute. Never come back unless you would like more than a punch to the jaw and bruises on your arms. However, your sister is always welcome. I do quite like her,” William said, continuing to stare at the painting. 

“So that is it? Carstairs comes down to tame you like a dog and you obey? Pathetic. You will not see my sister or I again and I swear my life on it. Grow a spine; I hear that it makes you less of a coward.” Gabriel walked out the front door and to the carriage waiting on him and the rest of his family. 

Will turned away from the painting, watching as Gabriel flung the carriage door open and clambered in. The Enclave meeting would be over soon. He dreaded the ending of it. Charlotte would walk through those wooden doors to express her disappointment in William and then leave with an air of frustration after he stared at her blankly the entire speech. Or maybe it would be Benedict Lightwood who would march up to Will and demand an apology to his crying daughter. 

The doors opened and the Enclave rushed out, the hallway suddenly filled with unimportant chatter. The men grabbed their coats, rushing outside into the snow. Charlotte Branwell was the last to exit. 

“Will, can I make you a cup of tea?” she asked, guiding him into the kitchen


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One has background information, Will/Henry, Will/Jem, and Gabriel's introduction to the story. This is a lot of filler and background to set up the story, but all of it will benefit the storytelling in later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoy chapter one! I had a lot of fun with the dialogue in this one.

“That is the last time you sit next to me!” Jessamine shrieked, frantically wiping her hands across the skirt of her periwinkle colored dress. Her fair blonde hair, usually pinned in tight, elaborate updos, was now falling across her shoulders. “Dammit, Will! You are such a toddler!” she was sniffling now, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. 

“Please, Jessie. It is just a dress. You have thousands, probably millions,” Will said, dropping a cloth in Jessamine’s lap. “I am sure Sophie can help you get it out,” he said, staring down at the yellowed stain on her dress. “Egg yolk shouldn't be that hard to get out,” he shrugged. 

“I am going,” Jessamine said with a sense of finality. She stood up from the table and stalked out of the door, leaving her plate of toast and eggs untouched.

“More for me,” Will grinned, using his fork to slide Jessamine’s eggs onto his own. “Do you think she is having another identity crisis?” he asked the table, his mouth full of egg.

“She is always upset with her life, Will. I think you should be less abrasive,” Jem cut in, looking up from his own plate. He had not eaten anything. Perhaps he was feeling bad again.

“I am not abrasive, Jem. Are you going to eat those?” he asked his friend, leaning forward as if he were going to make Jem eat his food. 

Jem caught on quickly. “I am feeling fine, Will. I just do not have a taste for eggs right now,” he said with a soft smile that seemed to give him a glowing aura. 

“There is toast. Everybody likes toast. Eat it,” he said. He grabbed the toast, poking his friend in the mouth with it. Jem’s decaying life state led Will to have an urge to protect him and sustain the quality of his life for as long as he could. Will was not ready to let his only friend, his parabatai, die, but Death listened to nobody. Jem frequently talked about his death often, attempting to normalize his passing. If anything, it made Will want to fight for Jem harder. He wanted one miracle and God please let it be James Carstairs.

*

Will stepped back through the London Institute’s doors, letting his heavy overcoat slide from his shoulders and onto the floor before he picked it up and hung it on the coat rack. Finding yin fen was usually a nasty experience, but Will thanked his lucky stars for being able to find it without conflict this night. He tucked the bag of silver powder under his arm, making his way to Jem’s room. He heard the soft noise of violin coming from his room and Will smiled to himself. How Jem found it in himself to be able to enjoy such an innocent hobby he did not know. He knocked, not waiting on Jem before he stepped into the room. The violin music came to a halt when Will pulled out the bag of yin fen. 

“I have enough,” Jem said dismissively, turning his back on his parabatai. He slid his violin into its case, the sleek wood catching the light of a candle. “You go through too much trouble for a dying man,” he sighed. Will’s eyes travelled to Jem’s long fingers attempting to hide a bloodied tissue from his view. 

“Please, Jem. You act like you don't want to live anymore,” Will whispered. His nails dug into his palms, reminding him that he was awake. God, he wished he was not having this conversation again.

“I am dying, Will. That is the truth. I will not sit here and tell you I will get better because I have more integrity than to lie to you,” Jem’s usual mild tone had taken on an edge, as if he were repeating a sentence for the fifth time. 

“I will find something. I can go to Magnus. He has connections. Please, you are all I have,” Will pleaded, walking to where he was eye-to-eye with Jem. 

Jem broke eye contact first. “I am not your experiment. Do not give me hope, only to bleed it dry moments later. I am tired, so tired.” He sat down on his bed, pieces of white hair falling against his almost-as-pale forehead. 

Will swallowed. He coiled a black curl around his finger, pulling at it just enough so that it caused a dull ache in his skull. He sat the yin fen on Jem’s nightstand before walking out, leaving Jem behind. As soon as he closed the door, Henry, Charlotte Branwell’s heavily inventive husband, rounded the corner. “Ah, Henry. It is late. What are you doing up and around?” Will asked, leaning against the wall. 

Henry grinned at Will. “Will, I was actually looking for a volunteer. Do you mind?” Henry actually did not wait on Will to answer before he peeled him from the wall and pushed him towards Henry’s workspace. 

The room was cluttered with an assortment of rusted and new tools alike. The lack of windows in the space gave the room a bit of a menacing feel, but maybe that was just because Will had never known of anything Henry made to be absolutely successful. He was a bright man, but Will feared that his mind moved too fast to carefully examine and complete each invention. Although, he did make a stick that emanated such a blinding glow that it would render opponents unconscious. The problem with the stick, however, was that it could only be used in dark, enclosed spaces. Nonetheless, Charlotte still smiled at Henry, giving him small praise for what he had created. 

“Ah, so, am I ingesting anything?” Will asked the red-headed man, watching as he bustled around the room in an attempt to clean up for Will. His attempted cleaning ended in a suspicious lavender substance spilling over the wood of a desk and dripping onto the floor. 

“What? Oh, yes, yes, but don’t worry.” Henry scrambled back over to where Will stood, his red hair standing up in isolated tufts around his head. He picked up a small glass vial filled with a golden liquid. “Please, drink. It’s in the final testing stages,” he said.

Will grasped the vial between his pointer finger and thumb, raising it to eye level. “So, I’m not the first person to test this?” He popped the cork off the vial, cautiously bringing it to his mouth, as if waiting on Henry to tell him otherwise. 

Henry’s cheeks turned red and he looked down at the floor. “Well, yes, but I have tested it on other...life forms. You’ll be fine. You might experience some gastrointestinal...discomfort, but that’s only if it doesn’t work,” he rambled, wringing his hands in front of him. 

Will, still unconvinced, but too tired to stand and converse with Henry any further, tipped the vial of gold into his parted mouth. It tasted...fine, actually. It carried the taste of honey and peppermint. It shocked him so much that he choked, swallowing the rest too quickly. “What does this do again?”

Henry moved towards him quickly and then stopped, cursing himself suddenly. He grabbed Will’s hand and pulled a small knife from the table, positioning it over his wrist. 

“What are you doing? Are you going to bleed me dry?” Will yelped, yanking his wrist away. 

“No, please, Will! Give me your wrist. The serum is supposed to boost the iratze rune, significantly cutting down healing time,” he said quickly, making a gash on Will’s wrist. He quickly drew on the iratze, watching as the cut faded instantly. “Amazing,” he breathed. 

“I hate to tell you this, Henry, but the iratze already cuts down healing time. Why is there a need for…” he trailed off, waiting for Henry to tell him the name of this drink. 

“I don’t have a name, yet. I’m leaving it to Magnus. I think he is much more creative than me in that area,” Henry shrugged. “The serum aims to combat demon poison as well in its finished stage. It is different from magic that warlocks use because it feeds off the power of runes and adds to it. Magnus is helping me, actually. He’s quite smart. Been around for awhile.”

“Bane? Magnus Bane? With the...glitter?” Will asked, his eyebrows raising to the beginning of his hairline. 

“Yes, yes. It gets everywhere. It’s quite annoying, but he insists that it accentuates his being. I understand, of course,” Henry hummed. 

“Oh, well. I’m glad you’ve found a confidant. I’ve really got to get going. It’s late and I’m afraid I have to read some dismal poetry to bore me into dreamless sleep,” he said, raising his hand at Henry to bade farewell. 

Will nearly tripped over his feet as he ran away from Henry’s lab, desperate to evade anymore midnight conversation. The moonlight shone through the windows of the Institute, creating a pool of pale light on the stairs. He took a seat on the stairs, clasping his hands in his lap. He enjoyed nights like these. Nothing but the moon, his breath, and occasionally an owl who was screaming as if it were lamenting over its troubled past. Will sat on that stair for an hour, two, and until the sun tainted the pale moonlight with its orange-yellow tone. Will stood to his feet, feeling as if he had slept through the night rather than stared out a window for hours. In a life where he could kill by simply loving, nights of silent beauty soothed his mauve soul. 

Nobody knew about Will’s curse. It was his burden to carry and he bore it. After his sister, Ella, died, he fled to the London Institute, taking up a life of demon hunting to somehow avenge his sister from what he caused her and protect the rest of his family. After arriving at the Institute, he gave nobody reason to like him, especially not love him. He’d smart off to anybody who talked to him, come out of his room only to train, and resort to breaking dishes when he felt like he hadn’t been bad enough. Maybe it was cowardice that made him like this. James came into his life soon after he moved into the Institute. The skinny, frail, white-haired and silver-eyed boy from China who took Will’s anger and berations like it was water off his back. Will couldn’t help but feel an attachment towards him. He felt guilty knowing that he allowed himself to feel an attachment to him because he was dying anyways. They soon became parabatai, Will unable to help but to care for him. Not love. He wouldn’t love, but simply care. They are two different things. As long as Will kept Jem at some sort of distance, he would be safe. 

“Will, have you been there all night?” came the mild-toned voice from behind him. Jem walked down the stairs to stand where Will was standing, tilting his head to look at him. His white hair glinted in the sunlight and it sent a pang of pain down Will’s chest, reminding him of Jem’s borrowed time. 

“Yes, but don’t worry about me. I’m still up to whatever it is we are doing today,” Will said, walking down the rest of the steps, skipping over one or two as he went. He stood at the bottom, waiting for Jem to make his way down. He whistled, tilting his head from side to side and checking his fingernails as if Jem were taking years to make it down seven stairs. 

“I think the Enclave is meeting. We aren’t allowed, of course, but I figured I’d warn you...Benedict Lightwood and all,” Jem said, finally coming to walk alongside Will to the dining room. 

“Do you think he will bring Gabriel? Somehow Lightwood always manages to worm his sons into things because he claims they need all the experience they can get before they’re running London,” Will said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I hate him. Next time I see him I think I’ll tell him I’ve decided to marry his sister. I want to see his face contort into that pathetic, disgusting expression where it looks like he’s going to rip you apart, but his eyes say that he’s too scared and doesn’t know how to,” he rambled. 

“That’s not wise, Will. You know his family. They have influence and baiting Lightwoods is a superbly stupid idea,” Jem shrugged, taking a seat at the dining table. His head of white hair then shot up as Charlotte walked into the room, looking extremely agitated.

“Benedict has decided his son is to monitor the Institute. There have been concerns raised about the...quality of how things are running. Please behave,” she said, turning around and leaving the room, her fists clenched at her sides. 

A tall boy, slender with muscle, green-eyes and brown-haired entered the room, his lips arranged into a smile that oozed superiority. His eyes violated Will’s torso and his lip curled in dissatisfaction. “Herondale, feel free to hang up my coat. I tweaked my shoulder and I cannot raise my arm to hang it.”

Will picked up his plate and hurled it at Gabriel’s face.


End file.
